First of Many
by Moiranne Rose
Summary: You remember your first assassination like it was yesterday and the way the life in her eyes slowly faded away. T for slight gore


**Because when you're working and the plot bunnies strike, there's no way to resist. I was happily doing my French homework, when they came up in droves. It's horrid like that, but I love to write and I want to improve, so why not?**

**Enjoy this glimpse into my dark, twisted mind.**

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**Title: First of Many**

**By: Moiranne Rose**

**Summary: You remember your first assassination like it was yesterday and the way the life in her eyes slowly faded away.**

**Warnings: Slight gore, dark, angst.**

**Pairings: None.**

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You remember it like it was yesterday.

It was a dark night, though clear of clouds and without moon or stars. You went out just like any other rookie would've, bouncing on the balls of your feet, restless to prove yourself, thinking that you were ready to be the hero you dreamed of being.

I was hesitant to tell you that it would not be the case. You were a Turk. There was no hero in the job description. Your red hair would need to be tamed, and your expectations to be repressed. But the night was young; Such things would come to your knowledge soon.

You were given your new weapon. Not the EMR you toss so effortlessly now, but a standard-issue handgun, nothing fancy about it. It would serve you for your mission in any case. You looked at it the way every other rookie did, interested, wondering how you would use it. In time you would know; about an hour, to be exact.

You were led to a black sedan and I got in next to you. You didn't wear your seatbelt and lounged on the seat carelessly, your suit rumpling already. I bit back my reproach.

I gave a customary monologue. I told you what was expected of Turks. We weren't the heroes. We functioned as the dark angels behind the celebrated SOLDIERs. We didn't give orders, we took them. We had no right to go against ShinRa, because once we signed the paper, our lives were forfeit to them. Like pawns in a giant chess game, we were efficient, but expendable as well.

You nodded, flicking away each sentence as if it meant nothing to you. And maybe it didn't, but you would know soon enough. The tightrope you walk each day now, between ShinRa's iron fist and your conscience, the wolves both inside and outside that threatened to rip you to shreds. You didn't know then, because if you did, you wouldn't be here now.

When we stopped, you got out alone, slinking along the pavement like a cat in the night. Your eyes glowed with Mako injections and your teeth gleamed in the dim light.You were so sure about yourself. Get in, do the job, wash your hands, and everything's gone from mind and memory.

Your aim was impeccable. She hardly had time to offer you a drink when you cocked the gun and fired a single shot. Simple and clean. She fell to the ground in an unglamorous heap, like a pathetic rag doll without any more stuffing.She gasped once or twice, red seeping through her blouse. Then she lay still, her lips only slightly parted to catch a breath of air she would never taste.

The utter immorality of the act only washed upon you when you gathered that limp body into your arms, watching as the life in her eyes faded away. She was 16, that was what the report you gave me (the only one to date that you sent in on time) mentioned. Her name was irrelevant. You walked out of her apartment a changed man, with the blood on your hands as your ticket into your new life as a ShinRa lapdog.

You were silent on the way back to HQ, even though I told you I was pleased that the mission was a success. That was one of few times that you were truly silent in the 7 years I've known you, and the only time I've seen you cry. You waited for me to rebuke you for the weakness, stiffening each time I spoke, but I kept that for another time. Might as well have let you keep your humanity for a few more minutes.

Afterwards, you made for the toilet and discovered, as all of them did, that the soap next to the faucet in itcould not scrub all the blood and gore away as you'd thought.

"Underneath the fingernails as well." was all I said to you.

Seven years. That's how long it's been. Seven years to crack a man down, stripping morality away, leaving an inhuman predator in his place.

I guess you regret it sometimes. We all do. You've hardened your heart against the screaming, the pleading goes unheard, but underneath your easy laugh, lies the gravelly tones of one who has seen death by his own hands too many times.

You remember your first assassination like it was yesterday.

I remember mine too.

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**A/N: Spur of the moment things hardly ever turn out right. Review anyway?**

**MR**


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